Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
“Director Hughes,” he says immediately, the volume of his voice heightened in an effort to alert me and everyone else to the seriousness of the situation. The athletic director catching us in here is about as worst-case scenario as it gets.
All the kids in the stands scatter and run, and I suck my lips into my mouth over how freaking guilty that makes us look right off the bat.
My throat feels clogged, and my cheeks feel hot as I fight to keep my carefully crafted Double C persona in place. It’s a form of masking, of course—something I’ve gotten so good at over the years I hardly even realize all the times I’m doing it—because underneath, I am a basket case of embarrassment and disillusion.
This shouldn’t be happening.
I covered all the bases. I made sure the stadium would be deserted and planned this for the night of the staff banquet so Coach Gordan, Coach Jimmen, and Coach Niles would be occupied. I checked and double-checked the shift change on the security patrol of the interior and turned off the cameras with my signal jammer.
I don’t know how they figured out we were in here, and boy, does that grate on my nerves.
I’m not used to not knowing. Since I was six years old, I’ve known almost everything.
Clearing my throat, I steel my nerves against my growing uncertainty and lift my chin with confidence I’m no longer feeling. “Good evening, Director Hughes. I’m so sorry you got pulled out here in the middle of the night.” I laugh softly, shaking my head and willing a reason for being here to come to mind.
“I’m afraid it’s my fault, sir,” a male voice says, startling me from my side. Blake is still there, his best Leave It to Beaver smile in place, even though I half expected him to be gone or—if not in a cloud of desertion dust—silent. All the do-gooders I know would have dropped this in my lap and left me hanging in a heartbeat. “I left my backpack with my AirPods, computer, and some other notes and gear here after practice, and I enlisted some friends to come help me look for it so I can turn in my Engineering Dynamics final paper on time. Silly of me, I know, but I didn’t back it up anywhere other than my laptop’s hard drive, and it’s due first thing tomorrow morning. I know how important it is to keep my GPA up so I have eligibility to play next year.”
My stomach flips as our athletic director’s eyes narrow, his hands settling on his hips in a posture of frustration. “You should have notified security, Blake. You don’t just sneak in the stadium and start rooting around.”
Blake nods. “Of course. I… Well, sir, I was a little embarrassed, as I’m sure you can imagine. But it won’t happen again, and we’ll get out of here now.”
“Did you find the backpack?”
Blake shakes his head, dejected. He’s playing the part of a damsel pretty well for someone who benches over two hundred pounds. “No, sir. I have a few more places to look on campus, though, before I give up all hope.”
“Coach Gordan know about you leaving this to the last minute?”
Blake winces, hooking his thumbs into his pockets and shrugging in a form of visual gee golly gosh. “No, sir. He’d be pretty disappointed, so I’m trying to make it right. Can we just keep this between us for now? I promise, if I don’t get the paper turned in on time, I’ll tell him myself.”
Director Hughes groans. “You’re killing me, Boden.”
Blake nods enthusiastically. “Yes, sir. I know.”
Hughes takes one long, deep sigh but then, finally, nods. “Fine. But you need to gather up all your friends and get them out of here, pronto. And I swear, if I find any damage or problems in the light of day, I’m coming for your ass.”
“Of course,” Blake agrees. “I wouldn’t expect anything less, sir.”
“Jesus Christ, football players. You’re all going to send me to an early grave.”
“Again, sorry, sir. Truly. We’ll get out of here now.”
Blake grabs me by the elbow and starts to walk, dragging me along with him toward the players’ tunnel he arrived through. He makes a big show of yelling out to the abandoned stadium in case any of the others are still here. “Come on, guys! I don’t think my backpack’s here! Let’s go look at the pedestrian court!”
“How Director Hughes didn’t know you were full of shit, I’ll never know,” I mutter under my breath as we make our way through the hall, the locker room, and out to the other side, where the darkness of navy-painted walls consumes us. Blake comes to a stop and I keep walking, but he reaches out and grabs me again, slowing me before I can get away.